


Letters

by LadyofShalott



Category: Leverage
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyofShalott/pseuds/LadyofShalott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a comment fic prompt:  "Nate/Sophie, "Hello, sweetie".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> They don't belong to me, and Dean and John broke Nate a long time before I got hold of him. No harm is intended, and no profit is made.

It's always _Hello, sweetie_ . "Dear Sophie" seems too formal somehow. The letters are always rambling stream -of-consciousness things, because that's just Nate. His brain doesn't do concise and to the point. 

_Hello, sweetie,_

_I saw a painting today that made me think of you... and no, it wasn't the one of you naked. That one's still hidden. We went out for Chinese food -- Eliot and I, that is, and there was this gallery near the restaurant. There was a painting in the window, and I honestly have no recollection of what it was called or the name of the artist, but the spirit of it was all you. Speaking of Eliot, I never thought one of the guys I used to chase would end up being my best friend, but you know how it is. We just click. This whole crazy little family is really nothing I expected, but I'm thankful for it just the same._

_Jim actually tried to recruit us for Interpol. Can you believe that? And Eliot's friend Vance has tried to recruit us for the government. Again. You know that there's no way in hell that's happening. Eliot's been through too much in the service of his country. He deserves to be free of that._

_I just... it's the middle of the fucking night, and it's cold out, and dark, and it's snowing, and I miss you so much I can't stand it. It's like a physical ache, only nothing eases it, nothing makes it go away, nothing makes it not feel like somebody's stabbed me through the chest with a dull, rusty knife that they just keep twisting._

_I can't keep doing this, Soph. I think maybe it's killing me just a little._

_Love,  
Nate_

 

_Hello, sweetie,_

_Happy birthday. I went back to the gallery and bought that painting I mentioned a few months ago. It doesn't match a damn thing in the house. Eliot has pleaded with me to please refrain from hanging it because it'll fuck up the feng shui or something. Hell, I don't know what's up with this mystic zen shit of his half the time. No, I'm not drunk. It's times like this that being sober pisses me off, though. I haven't had a drink in... more days than I can count now, if that tells you anything. See? I'm not a complete fuckup._

_Parker's tried to talk me into seeing a shrink. Let me reiterate - PARKER. Has tried to talk me into seeing a SHRINK. What's wrong with this picture, Soph? Hardison agrees with her, though. That's the only reason I even considered it, but it's just not the right time. I don't know if there will ever be a right time. You know what I do know? I know that I miss you more than I ever thought it possible to miss anybody. I keep turning around and looking behind me because I think I've caught a whiff of your perfume, but you're never there._

_I know that Eliot worries. He wouldn't be Eliot if he didn't. He's... that's just Eliot. Heart the size of fucking Texas. I wish he'd just forgive himself for everything, Sophie. He doesn't know it, but we worry about him, too._

_Somehow I think he still blames himself._

_He's right, though. I can't keep doing this. I think maybe it's killing me just a little._

_Love,  
Nate_

 

_Hello, sweetie,_

_Merry Christmas. I miss you. That ratty old angel that you swore was an antique fell off the tree and broke. We got a star to replace it. Eliot said there's nothing festive about an angel with a pine branch shoved up its ass. That, of course, sparked a debate between him, Parker, and Hardison as to whether angels actually have -- never mind. Suffice it to say the situation deteriorated. Parker likes the star better anyway because it sparkles._

_My grandma always used to say that at Christmas you're supposed to be with the people you love, and I am, Sophie. I'm with my family, even if they're not blood relatives. I wish you could be here with us, but I know you can't, and I understand that. And they're right, sweetie, I do need to let go, but it's so damn hard..._

_Sophie, I can't keep doing this. I think maybe it's killing me just a little, and so does my therapist._

_I had to write one last time to say goodbye. And I love you._

_Love,  
Nate_

 

"Are you sure you're okay, Nate?" Eliot asks as snowflakes begin to drift down, lending a quiet softness to the twilight.

"No." Nate's always been able to be honest with Eliot, even when he hasn't been able to be honest with himself. 

"We should head home. Parker and Hardison will be over for dinner soon."

Nate nods and allows Eliot to lead him, but casts one last glance over his shoulder. The bright red of the poinsettia stands out in sharp contrast to the snow, ivory envelope tucked in among the leaves. He manages to choke back his tears until they've cleared the cemetery gate, but once they're back in the warmth of Eliot's car, he can't control it any longer. Eliot doesn't say anything, just rests a hand on his shoulder in a silent show of support.


End file.
